


I am But Summer to Your Heart

by bangyababy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Two idiots who just love each other so damn much, men out of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 17:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/pseuds/bangyababy
Summary: And not the full four seasons of the year;And you must welcome from another partSuch noble moods as are not mine, my dear.Winter has never been easy, and try as Steve might to make it a little better, Bucky seems determined to stay out in the cold.





	I am But Summer to Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [multifandomfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomfics/gifts).



> Hello! And welcome to my secret Stucky exchange fic for Dani! Dani, you were so open to basically everything, it was amazing! I really liked the idea of Steve trying to get Bucky to enjoy the holidays again, but then you were like but angstttttt so I was like, why not both? SO here you are, I hope you enjoy this little fic! 
> 
> Also a HUGE shout out to ladivvinatravestia for the beta and help with scene work!
> 
> The title and accompanying lines in the summary are from [I know I am but summer to your heart (Sonnet XXVII)](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/i-know-i-am-summer-your-heart-sonnet-xxvii) by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Steve picked up a gold tree star and examined it against the silver tree star in his right hand. They were exactly the same, but Steve couldn’t tell which one he liked best. He half-turned to Bucky, who was standing beside him with a blank expression on his face.    
  
“Hey, Buck, which one of these do you like better?”   
  
Bucky gave the stars a paltry glance and replied, “Silver.”    
  
Steve nodded and placed the silver star in with the other assorted Christmas decorations. “I think that’s everything,” Steve said, hands on his hips surveying their cart. “We forget anything, Buck?”    
  
Bucky snorted. “Because I would remember.” Steve blanched and immediately began to fumble an apology, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Steve, I was joking. I’m gonna go get some eggnog; see you at checkout.” With that, Bucky turned on his heel and left.    
  
Steve sighed as he watched Bucky walk away. He’d been in a funk ever since they had gotten back to New York. Steve would have liked to chalk it up to the whole Thanos situation, but he knew it was more than that. After they had defeated Thanos, and Tony and the rest of the world changed their minds about the Accords and Bucky, the natural thing to do was to leave Wakanda.    
  
Steve knew Bucky had made a life for himself there, a place where no one looked at him like The Winter Soldier, the most feared assassin in the last century, or James Buchanan Barnes, war-hero thought lost in the Swiss Alps and now recovering brainwashed murder-bot, or even Bucky Barnes, little Stevie Rogers’ best pal and world-class charmer. In Wakanda, Bucky had just been Bucky, whoever he felt like that was that day. Bucky would never admit to Steve how much he missed that, but he didn’t have to. Steve knew all too well how heavy the weight of others’ expectations was.   
  
But Steve also knew that Bucky would never agree to stay in Wakanda, now that it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He knew Bucky blamed himself for getting the Wakandans mixed up with Thanos, even though it was Steve who had brought Vision into the country in the first place.    
  
So, he tried as hard as he could to build a life for them here, a place that was both of theirs. Brooklyn wasn’t quite the right fit for them anymore, so instead, they had found a place in Greenwich, hand picked everything that went in it together. And some days Bucky had been happy with their little spot, and others they couldn’t go a day without snapping at each other every five minutes. It was a slow process, made even slower by the arrival of the holiday season.    
  
Steve frowned and began to place the ornaments on the conveyor belt. All he wanted was to give Bucky, to give them  _ both, _ the Christmas they had never had, but it seemed like Bucky was content to let the season pass without acknowledgment.    
  
By the time Bucky returned with the eggnog and a couple of bags of Hershey’s Holiday Bells, Steve was just loading the tree onto the belt. Bucky set his loot down on the belt and pressed a finger to the wrinkle that had formed on Steve’s forehead.    
  
“Whatever you’re over thinkin’ about, just stop,” Bucky told him.    
  
Steve gave him a small smile and reached out to squeeze his hand once before moving down the line to bag their stuff.    
  
Bucky drove them back to their apartment because as he put it, brainwashed 100-year-old man or not, he wasn’t dumb enough to get in a vehicle with Steve behind the wheel. The ride was quiet except for the low sounds of the classical music Steve had put on, and the crinkling of foil from the Hershey’s Holiday Bells Bucky requested Steve unwrap for him.    
  
“You’re going to ruin your dinner,” Steve said, a bit more sternly than he intended.    
  
“If you’re cooking, dinner’s already gonna be ruined,” Bucky shot back, pulling into the parking garage. Steve had the decency to wait until Bucky had put the car in park before he punched him on the arm.    
  
Steve got out and slammed the door. “Don’t break my ornaments on the way in, Barnes!” he called as he left Bucky next to the open trunk door. He wasn’t actually upset, and they both knew it, but Bucky still carried their purchases in with care and dropped a placating kiss on Steve’s cheek when he set the bags on the coffee table in front of Steve.   
  
“So, are you making dinner?” Bucky asked, and Steve could tell he was trying to be diplomatic, but it was failing spectacularly.    
  
Steve shot him a grin. “Nah, I ordered Chinese while you were on the way up.” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and Steve kicked him lightly on the shin. “Whaddaya say we get the tree set up, and then after we eat, we decorate?”    
  
“Sure.”    
  
Somehow they managed to find a way to bicker about putting together the four whole pieces of the tree, and what should have been a five minute job, turned into a twenty minute job. By the time they had the tree standing in one piece on its own, the food had arrived.    
  
“I’m just saying it makes more sense to put the whole thing together first and then screw it into the base,” Steve said around a mouthful of partly chewed noodles.   
  
Bucky choked on his jiao zi. “That’s got to be the most moronic thing you’ve ever said, Steve.”    
  
“It ain’t either!”   
  
“Ain’t that the truth.”   
  
“See here, Buck—”   
  
“Steve, you gotta think about the structural integrity! They don’t start buildings from the roof for a reason.”   
  
“Then it’s a good thing we ain’t talking about buildings, ain’t it?”    
  
“Thank God you went off to war instead of becoming an architect because we’d be living in a city of ruins, I’ll tell you that Steve.”    
  
Steve snatched the jiao zi container from Bucky and grumbled, “I could build a building.”   
  
Bucky paused chopsticks halfway to his open mouth and turned to look at Steve. Steve realized what he had said at the exact same moment and blinked at Bucky before they both burst into laughter.    
  
“You’re such a stubborn punk,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “This must be what Sancho Panza felt like.”    
  
Steve placed a hand over his heart in mock horror. “Hey! I’ve never fought a windmill in my life.”   
  
“But you sure as shit would try,” Bucky replied knocking their feet together under the table. All the earlier tension seemed to have left Bucky entirely, and it was the most open Steve had seen him in a long time. Steve couldn’t help the dopey smile that crept onto his face as he watched Bucky snicker to himself over Steve’s bullheadedness.    
  
When they finally finished eating and made their way back to the living room, Steve put Bucky in charge of the lights, as he unwrapped the ornaments. Steve didn’t know how or why, but between the kitchen and the living room, all of Bucky’s good mood had vanished. Steve watched out of the corner of his eye as Bucky methodically strung the lights around the tree.    
  
“Looks good, Buck.” Steve nodded in appreciation at the Christmas tree. 

Bucky grunted in response. He came to stand over Steve and watch him unpack the last of the ornaments. 

“Okay, let’s get these ornaments on the tree,” Steve said, sliding a package of bulbs across the coffee table in front of Bucky.  
  
Bucky nodded and reached for a glass bulb with is metal hand. As soon as his fingers touched the bulb, it shattered into pieces in its container. Bucky stiffened and Steve let out an unthinking gasp. The silence stretched between them until Bucky’s arm recalibrated and the plates shifted. The noise broke the spell between them.   
  
“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve began, reaching for him. “We’ll just clean this up. They’re all the same, it’s not like we need this one.”   
  
Bucky jerked his arm away before Steve could reach him. “Christ, Rogers, it’s not a big deal!” Bucky shouted and Steve stepped back. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand and blew out a heavy breath. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”   
  
Steve’s chest tightened as he watched Bucky go. Slowly, he took the container with the shattered bulb and brought it into the kitchen to throw away to shards of glass. He looked at their closed bedroom door, the light peeking out from underneath and sighed. Bucky just needed to cool off for a bit. Steve went back to the tree and began to hang the ornaments, every once in a while glancing at the bedroom door for signs of Bucky.  
  
By the time Steve had hung their stockings on the wall, the bedroom light was off.   
  


* * *

  
  
Steve never brought up the Christmas ornament incident and neither did Bucky. After a few days, he thought the whole thing was forgotten. He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t disappointed that Bucky hadn’t helped to decorate, and that he still didn’t seem to be in the Christmas mood, no matter how many times Steve serenaded him with off-key versions of  “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” So, Steve had resigned himself to the fact that Bucky just wasn’t in a festive mood and gave up trying to get him into one.   
  
Some nights later they were both tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep, but unwilling to do anything about it other than change positions every five minutes.     
  
“Steve?” Bucky whispered into the darkness.    
  
Steve rolled over so he could look at Bucky. Even in the dark, he could see his eyes were wide open and fixed on the ceiling.    
  
“What is it?”   
  
Bucky turned to him and said, “I hate the tree,” with just vehemence Steve sat bolt upright.   
  
“What?” Steve asked, fumbling for the light.    
  
Bucky pulled himself up so they were eye level. “I hate the tree,” he repeated. “I hate the ornaments and the lights and all those goddamn snowmen. I hate Christmas.”    
  
“I…what do you mean, you hate it? You love Christmas.”   
  
“ _ Loved, _ ” Bucky corrected. “Back when Christmas meant something.”    
  
“It doesn’t mean anything now?” Steve’s voice was unnaturally raspy, like when he would try to talk through an asthma attack and for a moment he wondered if the serum has failed and he was actually having one.    
  
“It’s all plastic and presents now. Everyone trying to outdo each other with gifts or decorations and they don’t even stop for a moment to wonder why they’re doing it and all the while singing that damn Mariah Carey ditty,” Bucky snorted. “Hell, even our tree is plastic.”    
  
“You used to have a real one,” Steve said faintly. “Even after we started living together you’d still go home to decorate the tree. You loved it.   
  
“That’s what I mean, Steve.” Bucky crossed his arms and glared at the wall. “I loved it when I had shit to celebrate and people to celebrate it with.”    
  
Steve felt suddenly very far away from his body. Bucky was still glowering at the wall, seemingly unaware that he had just ripped Steve’s heart out and flung it into the Hudson. Steve knew what Bucky meant, truly he did. Bucky had always been close to his family, and even after he had moved in with Steve, he went to dinner at his parents’ house every Sunday night. He had doted on Becca and their mother had been strict, but still indulged them both. Bucky’s family had been loving and open and Steve had never quite forgiven himself for taking Bucky away from that.

  
He had thought, that maybe if he tried hard enough, bought enough gaudy baubles and baked enough gingerbread cookies that he could try to capture some of that spirit from their youth. He could recreate some of that carefree happiness, those soft cold mornings just have a fresh snowfall, the ones where he couldn’t help but whistle a tune, even if the world was falling down around his ears because it was  _ Christmas. _   
  
But Steve had been naive, or more likely just too stubborn to see the truth. Who had he been trying to convince this whole time? Himself or Bucky? The world was different now,  _ they  _ were different now and no matter how hard Steve tried to pretend like that didn’t matter, it  _ did _ .   
  
Steve had been quiet for too long and now he realized Bucky was staring at him, apprehension etched into his features.    
  
“Steve.” Bucky reached out but stopped himself halfway through.    
  
Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder in what he hoped was an easy-going gesture. “You’re right, Buck.” The words were heavy on his tongue. “I guess I was just trying to, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. We don’t need all this stuff. I—I’ll take it down tomorrow.”    
  
“Steve,” Bucky whispered and pulled Steve to his chest. “Stevie, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck.”    
  
It was only when Steve’s face was buried between the space where Bucky’s shoulder met his neck did he realize he was crying.    
  
“It’s fine,” Steve told him.    
  
“It’s not,” Bucky murmured. “It’s really fucking not. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, not like that, Steve.”   
  
“I know, I know. I know it’s not the same, Bucky, you don’t have to apologize.”    
  
Bucky pulled back and took Steve’s face between his hands so he could look him in the eye. “I really do, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry. Sometimes I just get lost in what we had and coulda had, that I forget to look at what I got right in front of me.”   
  
“Bucky—”   
  
“Hush,” Bucky chided. “Let me finish. It ain’t fair to you Stevie, and it ain’t right. You’re the best thing to happen to me since 1917. Every day I get to spend with you is cause for celebration and there’s no one I’d rather celebrate with.”   
  
“Sap,” Steve accused, wiping his eyes.    
  
“Yeah, I am.” Bucky reached up and pulled Steve’s hands away from his face. “But goddamn if I don’t love you.” He gently brought their lips together. The kiss was soft and salty from Steve’s tears, and maybe a little snot, but Steve didn’t mind at all, and apparently neither did Bucky, because a moment later he was deepening the kiss until Steve had a hard time breathing. Bucky must have realized this because suddenly he blew a huge puff of air into Steve’s mouth causing his cheeks to fill up like a chipmunk’s. Steve ended up blowing a raspberry onto Bucky’s lips and Bucky burst into laughter.   
  
“Jerk,” Steve pouted, punching Bucky lightly in the side. “I love you, too, you know”   
  
“C’mere.” Bucky tugged Steve to his chest again, and laid back down, running his flesh hand through Steve’s hair. Steve let himself relax into the touch and pressed his ear to Bucky’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.    
  
“We could get a real one,” Steve said after a while.    
  
“Hm?”   
  
“A real tree. Asthma’s not really a problem any more, so why not get a real one?”    
  
“But then we’d have to redecorate it.”   
  
“I don’t mind. Let’s get a real one, Buck. We can get the old aluminum ornaments off Amazon or something and a bunch of tinsel. Maybe we can call Nat and Sam to come help decorate if you want? Clint and Wanda, too. It won’t be like it was before but…maybe that’s okay.”    
  
Bucky was quiet for a long time, and Steve was worried that maybe he had misread the situation, that Bucky was serious about not doing Christmas. But then Bucky leaned down and kissed the top of Steve’s head and murmured, “Yeah, I think that’d be just fine.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am on [tumblr](http://bangyababy.tumblr.com).


End file.
